


Will You Really Follow Me?

by Never_Ending_Pencil



Series: Following Each Other [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Titans (Shingeki no Kyojin), Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Jean Kirstein, Bisexual Jean Kirstein, College Student Marco Bott, Dork Jean Kirstein, Eren Is a Little Shit, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay Marco Bott, Jean Is A Little Shit, Jean has nightmares, M/M, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein-centric, Nightmares, POV Jean Kirstein, Painter Jean Kirstein, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rich Jean, Sexual Content, THEYRE SO CUTE, everyone but Marco and Armin are little shits, implied sexual harrasment, its attack on titan what do you expect, jean has sexual trauma, marco has a hero complex, med student Marco, soft smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-21
Updated: 2020-09-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:48:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26502394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Never_Ending_Pencil/pseuds/Never_Ending_Pencil
Summary: Jean's POV in this adorable coffeeshop/university AUThis work is heavily influenced by Lownly's "Like a Drum" and "Droplets" By theprophetlemonadeJean is a struggling artist major who literally hates life. He looks like he gets no sleep, which he doesn't. He doesn't have my friends he's close to. And then Freckled Jesus walks into his life, his entire body looking like the sky.Marco, a kid with a huge hero complex and a variety of secrets, unconciously kidnaps Jean into being his friend.
Relationships: Krista Lenz | Historia Reiss/Ymir, Marco Bott/Jean Kirstein, Mikasa Ackerman & Armin Arlert & Eren Yeager, Sasha Blouse/Connie Springer
Series: Following Each Other [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1933279
Comments: 4
Kudos: 5





	Will You Really Follow Me?

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [My Beating Heart](https://archiveofourown.org/works/991568) by [Lownly](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lownly/pseuds/Lownly). 



> I'm so soft for them. And I love modern college AUs for JeanMarco  
> I just love them in general.  
> By the way, the way their college works is that they study two majors (or one, two is optional) and have surplus classes. One of the majors takes up two days of the week, while the other one takes the other two (unless you have one major then it takes up 4 days), and then the other classes take up the last day. I hope that clears things up :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an introduction chapter. Jean is reluctantly poetic about his sad life but what can you expect from a depressed art student.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried my best to not make this typical or just another run of the mill fanfic.

I hate being sappy and poetic. It's dumb. But when you get emotional or you're an artist, like me, you can't help it. So here's my poetic bullshit. 

I always loved the stars. The stories they held and the pictures they painted always fascinated me. I never imagined the stars would form a beautiful human being in front of me. I never thought I would be worthy of this living star. But here I am- _we are_. Here we are in the craziest sort of situation. The situations that seem to be pulled from some cheesy bullshit movie that constantly plays on Lifetime. This is the start of a new chapter. The story of how the stars started following me.

[Marco's POV](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26613280/chapters/64889500)

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP**

The screeching of my alarm clock wakes me up from a blank sleep. I groan loudly, a yawn mixing somewhere between the guttural noise that escapes my throat. The rain outside patters on my window, the brief flashes of lightning illuminating his cluttered room. Posters of bands and drawings he got inspiration from filled his beige walls. His dark redwood floors were scuffed with how often he moved his furniture. His desk is currently facing the big window of his room, looking down at the school courtyard. A few hanging plants hang above the window. The insufferable beeping is coming from beside me. I slam my hand around a bit, trying to find it. I hear a crash and look up, my hair a tangled mess. I look down and the alarm clock has fallen, the batteries falling out and rolling underneath my bed.

I groan again and throw my feet over the side, the warm fuzzy blanket slipping of my thin shoulders. I scratch my chin, the slight scruff making the tips of my fingers itch. I throw my hands out in the air and stretch, a sleepy whine leaves my throat. Another yawn wracks its way out of my lungs. I sigh and stand up. I rub the sleep from my eyes. I look around my room and notice my paint stuff is still all over the place. I look up at the canvas that takes up half of my shitty dorm. (At least I got placed in a larger one than most people have. Thank you, you deadbeat fuck.)

Ah yes. My crippling parental issues. We love a struggling, depressed artist with shaky and fidgety parent problems. My mom was nice... a little over the top all the time. I never really felt like I could connect with her- granted I couldn't really connect with anyone. My dad was awful on the other hand. He was a fucking deadbeat. He recently ditched. The moment I went to college, he left my mom. After years of having secret affairs, he just up and left the moment I went. He paid for me to have the nicest dorm room in the entire school. The sick bastard. It's his worst trick. He left the house to my mom, he still pays for it. He pays for my college, But he just doesn't care about _us_ and I couldn't be more spiteful. 

A small clatter shakes me out of my mini monologue. I bend down and pick up the spilled cup of paintbrushes. Thank god they were the dry ones. I look back up at my latest "masterpiece". The canvas is painted with a black and grey background. A dark- brownish-yellow silhouette takes up the middle of the canvas. But the thing that's supposed to catch your eyes is the red hands. Hands are a fucking bitch to draw- much less paint. But I spent most of my night perfecting the fingers. The hands on the neck, arms, chest, and hips of the figure are slightly overwhelming. All I need to do now is shade and then I can submit this to the gallery down the street. Hopefully, they'll take this sad excuse for art. It practically drips teenage angst.

I peel off my shirt and toss it into the corner of my room, stepping over the open cups of water and paint. I change into a loose-fitting band shirt and some jeans, tugging on my boots, I grab a brown fuzzy jacket, and finally an umbrella. I reach over to my small cleaning station and I pick up a cotton ball, gently dabbing my eyebrow piercing and ear piercings with peroxide. It's just a habit I got into. They're almost a year old but I still do it just in case they get infected. I bend down and grab my backpack, I sling it over my shoulders and grab my current sketchbook. I hop over the messy contents of my room again and head out of my small corner of the world. 

I sigh as my heavy brown boots clomp on the ground. My jeans are covered in blue pen drawings that refuse to wash off. It's annoying but I guess it fits me. I slip out my headphones and slide them into my ears, blaring a random Spotify playlist. I hum along to a cover of "Lovely" by that one emo artist. The rock spin-off of the song blares in my ear, the graveled duet of the singers makes my heart stutter and my inspiration flow. Despite all these good feelings, my face still scrunched up with some anger. My eyes were glaring at nothing in particular while art ideas fill my head. It was almost peaceful until this one glorious moment ruined it all. 

I almost committed murder when someone ran straight into me. 

I let out a cry and fell to the ground, my phone flying out of my hand and scraping across the floor, clinking against the weathered down metal entrance of the dorm rooms. My sketchbook opens and flops to the ground, folding a few pages in half and crumpling the rest. That makes my blood boil. But I can't do much since there's a giant heat source crushing me to the ground. I try and crane my neck to look at what brute dare attack me with a body slam so early in the morning. All I see is dark messy hair and a whole constellation right beside my face. The body holding this constellation on his face looks up, his cheeks darken and he scrambles off my back. I can finally breathe again. I sit up and glare daggers at the boy "JUST WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE???" I shouted, picking up my sketchbook and glaring angrily at the ruined pages. "Fuck! And you ruined my sketchbook!!" I look around, wondering where my phone flung off to.

"Oh my god- I'm so sorry!!" A warm voice responds to my anger. My head whips back over and I take a glance over of my attacker. He had a short, messy undercut that fit his "pretty boy" look, freckles covering literally _everywhere_ I couldn't find a damn spot on this boy that didn't have freckles, he also had dark skin that was being covered up by a brown turtleneck, (It hugs his neck quite nicely. If I wasn't so grumpy I might even think he's cute) He also has loose-fitting black jeans on and black high tops. "I wasn't paying attention to where I was walking!!"

"Yeah, no shit" I grumble and stand up, brushing off the dirt and dust off my jeans. The freckled stranger stands up and also weakly attempts to pat the dirt off. But his black jeans look like someone assaulted him with white chalk. I notice my phone and walk over, picking it up. The stranger rushes over and I notice that the back of his pants is worse than the front. "Your ass looks like a piece of chalk assaulted you," I grumble a little. I might be mad at this guy but I'm not _that cruel._

The stranger jumps a little and pats down his ass, getting most of the dirt off. "I-I'm-"

"-Sorry yeah, I know. Sorry doesn't bring back my sketchbook" I grumble. 

"Let me make it up to you!!" The stranger quips, he stands up, holding his hand. "I'm Marco Bodt" 

I squint down at his hand like it's there to guide me to my death. "I think you've already done enough damage. Don't you think?" I turn around without another word, tossing the ruined sketchbook in the trash. I hear a single cry of protest before I leave _Marco_ to himself. (Well there goes drawing in the middle of class) I sigh and shove my earbuds back into my ears. I stalk off, crossing the school into the main campus.

I'm almost late. Almost. I slide into my seat the moment the bell rings. I sigh and then I feel a familiar pain in my stomach. I mentally groan. No coffee, and no breakfast. Fantastic. I practically radiate bad vibes. My teacher notices and doesn't dare to call on me once. There's nothing particularly special about any of my classes. I usually sat in the very front and did my work. I did what I needed to do to get by. My art style is mostly portraiture. As much as I hate people, there's something about drawing them. It just captures me. I'm usually drawing a few subjects. Sometimes my mom with her sharp features but mostly Mikasa. My hands just loved drawing her and her sharp dark eyes with her short black hair that just draws you in. Whenever I draw the basic shape for a head my hand just draws whatever comes to its own mind. I slump over a loose piece of notebook paper. I can't help the shudder that crawls up my back and rests on my shoulders as the cool winter air runs through the classroom. 

My mind goes back to the boy- or- _Marco_ who crashed into me. That kinda shit doesn't happen usually. Unless you're Jeager who just crashes into random people for the sake of being a dick. My hand draws the basic shape for a head and I messily sketch out his face, my mind wandering to my other classes and friends. Needless to say, I completely blank out. I think about how much work I have to do and how fast I'm falling. Honestly, my life feels like I'm just in a rut and I'm steadily working myself to death. I never go a day without working. Everything is always working. Even hanging out with my friends feels like work. I can't really ever relax around them. Maybe Sasha when she's not a hungry demon. I sigh a little, slumping down. I hated this. I absolutely hated this. I bet in another life I would be hap-

A flash crosses my mind and my brain stops for a split second. No-no-no. We're not thinking about those- those nightmares. The nightmares that wake me up screaming and feeling a crushing weight of loss. The nightmares that make me sweat through all of my pajamas. The nightmares of the blood and mangled bodies that pile up in the streets. I shudder and cover my eyes, trying to will the memories away. 

The bell screeching and releasing us from our class chains shoots me out of whatever daydream I was stuck in. I gather my stuff, shoving my books, and new homework into my bag. I pick up the paper I had been drawing on. There were a couple of Mikasa, looking off into the distance with some sort of longing in her eyes. It was usually how he drew her since she often looked like that. But the most noticeable one was Marco. His freckles dotted my paper like a complex connect the dot worksheet. I pick it up and shove the notebook paper into my backpack. I never took much care of the loose pages I drew on. They were bound to get ruined one way or another. 

I practically float through the day, going in and out of classes like the day before. Going to the rooftop to eat my lunch like the day before. I wish I had something interesting to say about my classes to make this story more interesting. But I don't. There's just a lot of homework and zoning out. It happens when I have a bad night or stay up all night wallowing in myself. When Lunch came around though, that pissed me off. Listen- I don't know what sexuality I am. I like dark-haired people with kind personalities and dark eyes. So I don't know what about me screams gay to random kids in the school. And I don't know why they feel the need to send me pictures to get me to like them. 

I save every single one. Who knows, I might need it for blackmail. There's 54. I shudder a little and look away as I tuck the new picture into a notes folder on my phone. It was so disgusting. How I wasn't just straight at this point boggled my own mind. Men usually liked to... I hit my head a little, trying to get the thoughts out of my head. I stuff a forkful of shitty salad into my mouth. No one has ever actually stuck it in me. I'm still a virgin in that way at least. (Thank god...) I shake my head again and push my lunch away, suddenly feeling queasy. I feel a pair of eyes on me and looking around, suddenly feeling very small. I hug my jacket tighter to my chest and take out another piece of scrap paper. I fumble with my pencil a little and start sketching. I sketch a random person in the lunchroom cleaning off his shirt. I draw Eren's eyes. I hate the fucking bastard, but his eyes are something else. They remind me of the ocean in some sort of way. I draw a messy-haired boy with freckles- Marco. Again. ugh. Why does my hand keep drawing him? I literally met the guy once- 

_"I don't think you're a good leader because you're strong. I think you're a good leader because you know what it's like to be weak"_

I stand up and shove the paper into my bag. No. No. No. I'm not going back there. That quote was from one of my dreams. One that had bounced around in my head for a good few months. I can't go think about the blurry faces or the squelching of bodies being torn in half. I practically throw my lunch into the trash and storm out of the noisy cafeteria. I practically run to my next class, some rock ballad screaming in my ears. At this rate, I was going to go deaf. I didn't care. I was focusing so hard on getting this stupid piece of shit dream out of my head. A familiar tightness made home in my throat and I struggled to breathe as I crashed into my third and final astronomy class of the day. I was lucky I got so much done over the summer before coming here. 

The day passed by as usual with my occasional crisis of overthinking. 

When my feet clomped into my dorm room I felt my whole body relax. I kick off my boots and throw my bag onto the hook on my door. So much to do... so little time to do it. I sigh loudly and fall into my bed, i glance at my clock **"4:04PM"** I hum. An hour or so wouldn't kill me..... My eyes close as I fall into a deep deep sleep. 

_My legs throb as I run on the tops of the roofs. I leap over holes created by the titan's gigantic arms. Everything is so blurry. All these people are so blurry. A scream causes me to skid to a stop. I look back and pale. They're being eaten- I- What the hell am I doing?? They're dying by my order!!-_

**knock knock knock**

I sit up, sweating profusely. I look towards my door. I'm in my dorm. It's dark out. I look beside me at my alarm clock **"11:48PM"** It read. I groan I fall out of bed with a loud "UUF" I scramble to the door and fiddle with the knob. I swing the doorknob open and take in the stranger. I need to do a double-take. " Marco?" I grumble, rubbing sleep from my eyes. Am I hallucinating? 

"H-Hi!" He mumbles tiredly. He looked exhausted. "I-Uh I brought you this." He holds up a new sketchbook. It's thick and it's filled with the good drawing paper. My eyes widen a little. I gingerly take the book from him, looking at him with wide eyes. 

"Wh- wha-"

"I felt really terrible about crashing into you. So after work, I stopped by the store and grabbed you one. One of my friends actually had to help me choose the best one I could find." Marco blushes a little, his eyebags a little darker. "Art supplies are expensive as shit."

I'm standing here, dumbfounded. What is this? Why would he go out of his way to make it up to a stranger "How did you know what dorm I was in?" 

"I live in this dorm."

heh. Ironic. "how did you know this was my room?"

"I watched you come in here after classes. I knocked on a few wrong doors if that makes you feel better" Marco giggles. 

"I- uh- I-"

"Yeah...um... so- sorry again..." Marco mumbles, his jaw tightening with a held back yawn. "for crashing into you"

"it's uh- it's all good" I mutter, staring at the expensive sketchbook in my hands. 

Marco waits there for a moment before nodding a goodnight and leaving. I close the door behind him and look down at the book. I- I didn't expect so much kindness from some giant brute. Although.. a flash of his face appears in my mind again. A warm, apologetic smile spreading across freckled cheeks. Now that I think about it, the only "brute" part about him was his build. He was a few inches taller than me. Not intensely but enough for me to crane my neck a little to look at him. His shoulders are a little wide and his hips are slim. His build kinda reminds me of a Dorito. A triangle shape. I hum a little and flick open the book, skimming through the blank pages. My tongue licks my upper lip a little as inspiration flows through me. I hold the book up to my nose and sniff in that _intoxicating_ fresh paper smell. I let out a breathy sigh and notice the writing on the inside of the cover. It has the date written in it, something I have a habit of doing with my own sketchbooks. And there's a small note on the edge of the cover

_If you ever need a friend here's my number :)_

_xxx-xxx-xxxx_

I look at the horribly drawn smiley face and chuckle to myself a bit. Before shaking my head and making my face go back into its familiar scowl. Damn this kid's attitude was contagious. I place the book, carefully, besides my bed and walk over to my crumpled apron. I pick up the messy piece of clothing and slide it over my head and sit down at the stool in front of my painting. I pick up a paintbrush and start guiding my brush over the bumpy canvas. I let the feeling overtake me as everything goes numb and intense at the same time. I feel nothing other than the driving need to finish this painting. This painting meant so much to me. It harbored so much of my pain and insecurities. The thin, bony arms being held and caressed by nameless hands. The scraggly outline of a messy undercut being gripped by a hand. I shudder when I finish the shading. I cover my hand in orange paint and go behind the canvas, giving it a high five and finger painting the initals "JK" on the back. I take a step back and look at my work. I nod. I'm quite proud of it. I wash my hands off and pick up all the cups and paint, throwing them in the mini sink I have. I peel off the apron and throw it back into a corner. I go over to my bed and collapse in it. I briefly look at the clock **"3:48AM"** I hum and fall asleep again.

_The crunching noises echo in my brain. It makes me want to gag. I watch as my comrades- my friends get eaten. I stare down as the giant cronch on the people like they're a bowl of chips. I close my eyes, grief and regret making every single atom in my body go cold-_

_My eyes snap open. "WE CAN USE THIS AS AN ESCAPE GUYS!! C'MON!! DON'T STOP UNTIL WE GET TO HQ!!!!" I scream so loudly my throat scratches a little. I break off into a spring again. I leap over a gap and a titan catches my leg. My blood goes cold as I feel the intense squeezing on my leg._

I shoot up, gagging. I scramble out of bed and throw open the door, making a loud banging noise. I don't care. Most of the guys in here sleep like a fucking rock anyway. The only thing I'm concerned with right now is the one simple goal of "get to the bathroom before you puke". I navigate the hall as I run to the bathroom, nearly tripping over my own two feet. I feel the bile rising in my throat. I slap a hand over my mouth, trying to keep it in for just a few more moments. I skid into the bathroom and sprint to a stall, emptying my stomach of all its contents. I can't help but gag as I throw up. All the blood of those people flood into my mind again, causing another wave to come up. I groan and rest my arm on the toilet seat, letting my head fall onto my arm. Shaky breaths leave my body, my entire body shivering. I hear a door slam and I don't process the bathroom stall swinging open and revealing Marco. I weakly look up at him before my eyes roll back and I slip off the toilet, falling onto the ground. 

I hear a distorted voice calling my name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just- I can't with them lmao. I did my best lolol.  
> I don't know when the next chapter is out! I'll let ya know soon!  
> "Lovely" Cover by Lauren Babic

**Author's Note:**

> AM I trash? yes. yes, I am.  
> Did I spend lots of class time writing this? Why yes I did.  
> Was it worth it?  
> Y E S


End file.
